the distance we call religion
by heechul
Summary: Most people turn to religion in their last moments. Haine and Badou are not 'most people.'
1. indulgences

Badou gets a note asking how much he cares about Haine. He thinks for a bit and can only come up with three reasons why he ever would:

1. Haine pays more rent than Badou.  
2. As a result of 1, Badou has more money to buy cigarettes (not that he had much money to begin with, but).  
3. As a result of 2, Badou is happier.

_A little_, he writes back.

_Good_, is the reply he gets. _Come or he'll die._

Badou weighs his options. The trouble of finding someone willing to pay his rent, he concludes, is more than he can really afford.

He sighs, loads a gun, and goes.

-

Haine doesn't get a note, just a picture. It's of Badou, tied up and bored-looking, and Haine first thinks it's some kind of sick joke. He throws the picture away and doesn't think of it.

Two weeks later he gets a phone call. The oil-slick tones of Giovanni's voice slides across the distance.

"We have your partner," he says.

"Yes," Haine replies flatly, not even bothering to make it a question.

"Come," Giovanni says, and hangs up the phone before Haine can refuse him properly.

Haine writes it off as another disturbance of his otherwise orderly life. He ignores the next note he gets in the mail.

He gets another phone call, this time slightly more hysterical (not that Giovanni ever quite sounded sane, but, well), four days later.

"He came for you," Giovanni says almost accusingly, voice rising to a shriek.

"I'm not in charge of what he does," Haine replies listlessly.

"He asked for you," Giovanni says, voice quieter and calmer.

"No, he didn't," Haine answers.

He hangs up.

-

Haine has to kill at least thirty men before he gets to Badou.

"What a waste of my time," he informs Badou.

"I thought you were the genius," Badou groans. "Can't believe you came."

"What, are you waiting to die?" Stares at Badou, eyebrow raised. "Didn't think you were that stupid."

A harsh, quiet laugh – Haine thinks maybe this confinement wasn't so bad if it taught Badou some self-control. "I can take care of myself, Haine."

"Which explains why you're here."

Badou shrugs. "Tell yourself that, Haine."

Haine hears a click behind him.

He turns around to see Giovanni, smile angelic.

-

"So, Haine," Badou begins conversationally. "You believe in God?" Stares up the barrel of Giovanni's rather formidable gun. Haine can tell – if a bullet from a gun like that hit him, even he won't be recovering for a long, long time. Badou tilts his head back, breathes in the gun smoke like the cigarettes he inhales.

"Mm. Not really."

"Ah, really," Badou muses. "Maybe that's why you're so gloomy. Apparently finding God can be really uplifting, or something." A pause as he examines Giovanni, then Haine, with a critical eye. "Hey, give me a smoke?"

Haine tosses a whole pack at Badou. Giovanni's gun remains locked on Badou. "Knock yourself out."

Haine hears Angelica's voice even now, hears her whispers in Giovanni's ear. _Shoot him and I'll love you. Do it, Giovanni. Shoot him. Kill him._ Haine sees the hands she has wrapped around Giovanni's throat.

"Thanks." Badou brings a cigarette to his lips, inhales as if death by nicotine is an art. "So." He turns to Giovanni, smile growing long and thin like cruelty. "You gonna shoot me or what?"


	2. counting vices

"So," Badou says conversationally, despite the rather nasty-looking bullet wound in his shoulder currently bleeding profusely and not without quite a bit of pus and some evil-looking black stuff Haine thinks might be tobacco and thus confirming his suspicions that all the smoking finally manifested itself in Badou's blood. "Great day to be alive, isn't it?" He happily puffs away on some cigarettes he found in the pocket of some guy he killed about eight men back and his visible eye creases in genuine glee.

Haine shoots him a withering look, or as withering as he can manage with his breath coming a little fast and hand trembling around the gun he had to (rather forcibly) take from Giovanni. "Yes," he replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Absolutely fucking fantastic day. I should just shoot you here and now and make it even better."

Badou turns an eye too wicked to be properly wounded on him. "Surely you wouldn't do that," he cajoles. "After you went through all that trouble to save me! Would you really want my blood on your hands?"

Haine waves his bloody hands in front of Badou, anything to hide the shaking. "At this point," he says drily, "I don't think anyone's going to be able to tell if it's your blood or Giovanni's on my hands."

"That's right." Badou's face darkens. "Giovanni, that bastard. I still can't believe he i_shot_/i me." His lips curl back in a snarl, canines glinting dangerously.

"And then I got him in the face," Haine reminds Badou, cutting off his murderous tirade. "And now I'm leaving. Come if you don't want to die from blood loss."

"Yeah, but if only I'd gotten a chance with him," Badou says, sighing, snarl ironed out by good-natured wistfulness.

-

"Oh Lord," Bishop says, wrinkling his nose at Badou's shoulder.

"Don't take God's name in vain," Badou mumbles petulantly. "What kind of priest are you?"

"Do you want to die," Bishop asks though it is not question, and Badou is sure that if he could see his eyes, they would be crinkling. "No? Okay. I'll clean this but you better stay off it for a couple of days, at least. I'd say five days to maybe a week just to be safe."

"Oh come on!" Badou protests, pulling his shoulder away. "I've got a job tomorrow. I'm behind on rent. I need to buy cigarettes. Come on. Bishop."

Bishop frowns. "I'm pretty sure I remembered Haine saying you owe him about three months' worth of rent by now. One more won't hurt, unless you want to lose your arm."

Badou grumbles, "Haine is such a goddamn liar. And five days? Are you fucking crazy? I'll die of boredom. I have things I need to do. Important things."

Bishop smacks him upside the head. "No cursing in a church," he says calmly. "Fine. Three days, but get Haine to apply this to your shoulder twice a day."

"Thank you," Badou says fervently, grabbing the salve. "Jesus. Thank you."

Bishop raises an eyebrow.

"I have had a change of faith," Badou informs him. "Jesus has been kind to me lately."

-

"Oh God oh God oh God," Badou chants with almost religious fervor, screwing his eyes shut and clutching his lighter like it is an icon of Jesus.

"Shut the fuck up," Haine says dispassionately. "Or I'm going to make you eat this."

"I really don't think I'm going to live to see that day," Badou says seriously. "Oh God oh God oh God oh God – "

"You can't see very well anyway," Haine snaps. "I'm done, you pathetic fucker."

"Oh," Badou says, inspecting his shoulder, wrapped in gauze that smells faintly of medicine. "Thank you."

Haine doesn't say anything and lets his hand linger on Badou's shoulder, fingers trailing down his arm and raising the fine hair there. "No problem," he replies, and smirks.

-

The second day, Haine presses remarkably smooth fingers to the area around the wound, pressing down in a way that both hurts and is an incredible turn-on.

Badou leans into the touch, his one eye a slit of pleasure.

Haine wraps the wound as he did yesterday, smile curling when he sees Badou slump back in disappointment.

-

The third day, Haine lets his hand slide up and across Badou's jutting collarbone, fingers curling almost lovingly around Badou's neck.

"What a fucking tease," Badou calls after him when he leaves for that day's assignment, but there is more amusement than malice in the words. "Didn't your mother ever teach you how to finish what you started?"

Haine thinks about Angelica, the only mother he has ever had. Thinks about her sinisterly long fingers, always tangled tight around his heart. Remembers the only things he ever learned from her. _It's only over when you're dead._ _Don't stop until they're dead. Finish what you started._ "Yeah," he answers. "Unless it wasn't worth finishing."

-

The fourth day, Badou holds fast to Haine's wrist after he finishes unwrapping his bandages.

"What," Haine asks in equal parts irritation and amusement. "You miss my touch that much, Badou-chan?"

"Oh no," Badou hisses, and puts down his cigarette. "I can't stand the fucking sight of you."

All in all, it is nothing short of what they couldn't have guessed at otherwise. Badou's nicotine-stained fingertips leave angry red marks in between the scars on Haine's back and Haine leaves a trail of muttered curses down his throat.

-

In retrospect, getting captured has happened enough times that he probably should've known a little better but on the plus side, these people weren't Giovanni, which meant they weren't crazy and probably couldn't kill him.

"This is the second time this month I have had to save you," Haine informs him. "I should just let them kill you next time."

Badou looks even crazier with at least five different people's blood on him, eye lit up with manic glee and hands wrapped around guns like they were just another extension of himself. "They couldn't kill me if they wanted to," he says dismissively. "Did you see those guns? I could use those as lighters."


End file.
